The Focaccia Fatality (10 page)

We strolled the empty outside deck, which was used by patrons in the warm weather. At the rail, I leaned forward, sniffed the air, and smelled the salt that drifted in off the water. Aidan did the same and then put his arm around my shoulder, pulled me close, and kissed my brow.

My pulse quickened, my heart beat faster, and I stepped closer, enjoying the moment. Who knew what would happen next? I’d have given just about anything to stay right where I was forever, but nothing lasts and neither did this. As a few drunks tumbled up the steps and onto the deck, I knew it was time to leave.

“Come on, let’s get going. I have bread to make and it’s going to get crazy here any time now,” I said softly.

“Agreed. But, before I take you home, I’d like to ask you something.”

I glanced upward. Aidan’s face lay in shadow and I couldn’t see his eyes or features clearly. “Okay, go ahead.”

“Not here, not this minute. Later,” he said and ushered me down the steps into the car.

*    *    *

The ride to Providence was quiet. I said little while Aidan weaved through the holiday traffic. Drivers were rude, obnoxious, and a tad out of control on occasion. Happy when we arrived on South Main Street and Aidan parked at the curb, I asked, “What’s on your mind?”

“You’ll see,” he answered and motioned for me to get out of the car.

Hand in hand, we walked along the canal behind the Rhode Island School of Design. Unwilling to ask again, I waited for whatever Aidan had to say, whether it would bode well for me or not. We’d turned to walk back toward the car, when we both looked up at the city skyline at once. The beauty of the colored lights, along with the glow of light that rose above the buildings, outlined the city that was a delight to behold.

I’d taken a step when Aidan swept me into his arms and kissed me soundly. My breath caught in my throat as heat flowed through me. Suddenly, I knew I needed this man more than I’d ever thought possible.

When he drew back and stared down into my face, he asked, “Will you marry me, lass?”

“Can we sleep together before I give you an answer?” I answered with a grin.

His eyes widened a bit before he laughed out loud. “Are you sure?”

I nodded.

Delivered home at the stroke of midnight, in Cinderella fashion, all I needed was a glass slipper to complete the magic. Aidan proved to be a great lover. We’d made love for three hours until, completely sated, we finally lay back on soft pillows and sighed in unison. Aidan wasn’t just the man of my dreams, he was my man. How could I live without him in my life? Even on a part-time basis? I didn’t know. But the evening’s revelations left me with worry in the pit of my stomach.

“It’s been a great evening, Aidan,” I said after he’d kissed me goodbye.

“You haven’t answered the question, lass.”

“I know. There are a few things I need to consider before I give you an answer,” I said and watched his expression harden.

“Don’t play with me, lass. It’s not fair and I won’t tolerate it, ye ken?”

“I ken,” I said with a slight smile. When he smiled at my answer, I knew he wasn’t angry and left him at the car door.

Two hours later, dough was on the rise, croissants were baking, and I had difficulty staying awake. There’s nothing like sex to relax the body, mind, and lift your spirits. At least that’s what had happened for me with Aidan. I wandered the small kitchen in an effort to walk off my exhaustion when I heard a knock on the door. BettyJo peered in the window next to it.

“What are you doing up so late?” I asked as she strutted in.

“I just got home from a party where I was the fortuneteller for the evening. I made over a thousand bucks, imagine?” she asked gleefully.

I pulled a wine bottle from the fridge, took two glasses from the shelf, and poured a hefty measure for each of us. “Tell me all about it?”

As BettyJo looked me over, her smile widened. “Don’t tell me, you’ve had sex with Aidan,” she exclaimed.

“How would you know that?” I asked in surprise.

“It’s written all over your face. I can just tell.”

I smirked. “More like you read my aura or something,” I said dryly and swigged a mouthful of wine.

I listened to BettyJo’s stories of her evening with the partygoers. When she stopped talking, I glanced up and froze.

“What? What’s the matter?” I demanded.

“I know who killed the blonde woman, Vanderkemp. Oh gosh, we have to call Porter, right now, this very minute,” BettyJo said as she rummaged through her purse. When she had his business card in her hand, she dialed his number and waited for an answer.

“Porter, this is BettyJo Seever. Can you come over to Melina’s bakery?” she asked in an agitated voice.

I began to shake, not from the cold, but from fear. Her excitement and bright eyes gave me the willies. Good grief, she did know who the killer was. Wine spilled from my glass. I plunked it down on the work table and wiped my hands on my apron. My knees weakened and I felt lightheaded.

“Sit down, Melina, over here, hurry,” BettyJo instructed as she pulled me by the arm toward a stool that seemed to get farther away by the second. The room dimmed and I headed downward. The last thing I heard before I hit the floor was BettyJo’s voice.

A wet cloth hit my forehead with a soggy slap. Water dribbled down the sides of my face as I came to. I gazed up at the ceiling that was partially obliterated by two faces staring down at me. Porter Anderson’s furrowed brows and keen gray eyes peered at me, while BettyJo’s worry was clearly stamped on her face.

The cloth hit the floor with a sloppy sound when I flipped it off my face and tried to get up. Porter swiftly took me by the arms and helped me to stand.

“Are you okay?” he asked and guided me onto the stool BettyJo drew forward.

“I’m all right, really, I am.” I waved the two of them away. “I’m just so weary, that’s all. I’ve had little to no sleep in the past few harrowing days. Did BettyJo tell you who killed Vanderkemp?” I glanced at her and then back at Porter, who shook his head.

With a glare at BettyJo, I said, “Well, tell him then. I’m all ears, and he probably is, too.”

She took a deep breath and said, “Mrs. Hardin killed her.”

My mouth hung open. BettyJo pushed my chin upward with her index finger. “Close your mouth, Mel. It’s unbecoming.”

I did as told and then stared at Porter who simply nodded.

“Are you going to say anything or just nod?” I snapped.

He glanced at me and said, “My team and I had come to that conclusion, too. It’s the small matter of proving she did the crime that has held us back from arresting her.”

“Good, I’m glad we are all on the same page.” I turned to BettyJo. “How did you figure it out?”

“One of the guests at tonight’s bash had too much to drink and said more than she should have. I heard her say Mrs. Hardin was in attendance at the party, and when this person saw her, she said, and I quote, ‘She’s a killer, ya know. Killed the bitch that her asshole husband has been doing on the side. I saw her at the party that night, but good old Joshua didn’t know she was there.’ So what do you think of that, huh?”

“Who was the drunken woman?” Porter asked holding his pen over his notepad.

As she tapped her lips with a fingertip, BettyJo thought for a second and then said, “Alicia Tardiff. She lives somewhere in the Oaklawn section of Cranston. I’m not exactly sure of her address. The hostess, Brenda Clifford, would know, though.”

“Got it, thanks, BettyJo,” Porter said. He paused at the door and looked my way. “Get some rest, Melina, you need it.”

Before I could say a word, he was gone. BettyJo stood at the kitchen window and peered through the glass, her hand cupped around her eyes as she watched him.

“Boy, he’s in a rush. Do you think he’ll get Alicia to tell him what she knows?”

“If she’s smart, she’ll give him the information he needs. Otherwise, either of the Hardin’s might get to her. You know what that means, right?” I asked as I ran a hand across my brow. Gosh, I was sick of death and mystery. All I wanted to do was bake bread and sell it to people who’d relish the flavor.

“Is there something you’d like to tell me, Melina?” BettyJo asked with an arched eyebrow.

I snorted and said, “Huh, is your Spidey sense acting up again or what?”

“Mmm, maybe.”

“Aidan asked me to marry him. Satisfied now?” I said with a snicker.

“Get out, he really asked you? You said you would, right? You did, right?”

Slowly, I shook my head. “I have much to consider before I take that big of a step. Seanmhair has had a proposal from Connor, so she’ll be all set. He’s quite a nice man and very gentle with her, too. Caring, as well. My business is very much at the forefront of my mind and it’s really important to me. I’ve built it from the ground up, you know?”

I glanced at BettyJo who grinned like a fool.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

“Nothing, it’s just that you thought Aidan was no longer interested in you and now he’s popped the question for real. Why you’re hesitating is beyond me. You can start a business in Scotland if you want, I’m sure Aidan would support you in that decision. You’ll figure it out.” BettyJo shrugged a shoulder and headed for the back door. “See you later,” she said as she closed the door. I locked up behind her. If nobody came to buy bread, the homeless shelter folks would eat well for the next few days. How long I could keep going this way was uncertain.

I sat and drank the remainder of my wine and dozed off while I sat at the desk in the cubbyhole office off the kitchen. When the front glass window shattered and something hard bounced off the wall, I jumped up and rushed into the shop. A note was bound to the rock. I tore at the string and read the lopsided writing.

You may as well close up now, before we burn you to the ground.

Fast Teddy & his friends.

My knees buckled as I leaned against the counter. Who the hell was Fast Teddy? And who were his friends? I grimaced, called the cops, and reported the incident. Within a half hour, I was inundated with policemen covering the scene and asking the same question over and over in different ways. They wanted to know if I’d pissed somebody off, and who. Then they asked if I had any enemies, why someone would break my window, and other questions in the same vein.

My head started to pound, my nerves wound tight as a loaded spring, and I finally lost my cool.

“I have no enemies other than the freakin’ Gallaghers and Hardins. As a matter of fact, Mrs. Gallagher threatened me just yesterday. If you think they have a hand in this, then go speak with them. Other than that, I have no idea who’d do this and I don’t know Fast Teddy or who his friends are. You might want to call Porter Anderson,” I said vehemently.

The cop raised his hands and said, “Calm down, Miss Cameron. I know this is difficult for you. We’re trying to get a lead on who might be behind this incident, that’s all. I’ll check with Detective Anderson and see what light he can put on this for us.” The officer flipped the notepad closed, tucked it into his pocket along with his pen, and dipped his head to me as he walked toward the door.

The other cops, but one, followed suit. He stayed behind and asked if I had any plywood or cardboard he could use to cover the broken glass. There’d been a recent delivery from my supplier and I had folded the empty cardboard box into a manageable size before storing it in the recycling bin. I put up a finger and said, “Wait here, I’ve got just what we need.” I returned with the cardboard, a heavy duty cutter, and a roll of duct tape.

Together, we sealed the interior and exterior portion of the broken glass, diminishing the draft greatly. I thanked the man and watched as he drove away. It didn’t take long to sweep the glass shards from the floor and dump them into a trash bin.

By the time I’d finished, I realized it was almost time to open the shop. Quickly heading to my apartment, I showered and changed clothes. The wall clock struck the hour and I raced down the steps and into the bakery, flipping light switches as I strode through the small shop.

Bins and baskets lay waiting for breads, rolls, and whatever else I had on hand. Bill Mutton banged on the back door to retrieve his usual order for the pizzeria. I handed him a tray from the fridge, filled to overflowing, and watched him leave.

At the door, he asked, “You’ll be at the party tonight, won’t you?”

I nodded, even though I’d forgotten and the event was the last thing on my mind.

“We’re gathering at Charlie’s, don’t be late. Are you bringing a snack? I’ve got pizza bites to make, and Helena’s making grand little sweets.”

“I’ll bring something delicious, don’t worry. See you later,” I said and closed the door behind him.

In the bakery, I turned the radio on and tuned in Christmas music. I flipped over the door sign from closed to open and took some time to bring out the fare I’d had left from the day before. Bread sticks were merrily tied in clusters with red and white string. The pain au chocolate pastries lay lined up on glass shelves under the clear countertop. Crackers resembling stars and suns were bagged in cellophane and tied with red and green ribbon. Cottage bread, also known as peasant bread, a round bread with a smaller round bread baked on top of it, lay stacked in baskets. I gazed at it and wondered how the English had come up with the name. It resembled a chignon hairdo rather than a cottage. I smiled and kept busy.

By ten o’clock there’d only been one customer and two window peepers before BettyJo sauntered into the room. About the same time, the radio announcer began his newscast by stating Joshua Hardin and his wife had been taken into police custody for the murder of Ms. Eliza Vanderkemp. He went on to say how shocked his fellow senators and congressmen were over the news. I smirked, said who cared about them, and asked BettyJo if she’d like to celebrate with a glass of wine.

“So early?” BettyJo asked while glancing at her watch.

“Hell, it has to be five o’clock somewhere in the world, right?” I asked and grinned.

“I guess, but let’s have tea instead.”

“Sure, why not.”